Sweet Corruption
by Toph the Trickster
Summary: When she had joined him in the darkness, Sona placed her hands against his iron chest and rested her head against it; she sighed into him, but still he did not move. It was he, and she found him at last. Sona x Mordekaiser
1. Pure Damnation

**Disclaimer:** I don't own League of Legends

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><p>Greetings all;<p>

I've been playing LoL for about four months now, and I decided to add my own contribution to the archive for it we have here on FF. Now, I'm going to go ahead and assume that the pairing for this story isn't as popular as, say, Gar x Kat or Trynd x Ashe, but I'm going to go ahead and ship this one anyway.

I hope you all like it, and please drop a comment or to on whether I should continue with this oneshot collection or not.

Sincerely,

_**Toph the Trickster  
><strong>_

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><p><strong>Sweet Corruption:<strong>

**Pure Damnation**

_**S**_ona Buvelle sat in the comfort of her late mother's bedroom – now hers as per Lestara's will; her slender fingers running across the steel strings of her etwahl; contemplating.

The discovery of her instrument's darker purpose had not been pleasant in the least: the revelation coming in the form of her adopted mother's demise at the hands of the very music that the older woman had adopted Sona for.

Yet despite her sorrow at the loss of her guardian, Sona came to a sickeningly cruel realization as she passed her hands over the lacerations that bled the elder Buvelle's lifeblood unto the polished wooden floor:

The blood, the gore, the sheer brutality with which her mother's life was taken had fascinated her in a way her music seemed to be unable to; for as she mourned the loss with her tears, she was subconsciously examining the injuries while trying to study how badly they damaged the body and imagining how the blades might have looked like had they been solid.

When the realization that she had been examining her mother's corpse like a doctor would have during an autopsy of someone totally unrelated to them, she refused to touch her etwahl for weeks following Lestara's death, and kept the strange instrument in its case in the deepest parts of her wardrobe. It shook her to think that she had found interest in something so unwholesome, something so destructive and damaging. It had come to such a point that she had moved the instrument's case to the attic where it remained for another three months.

During this three months of absence from her preferred field, Sona felt herself constantly accompanied by a chill; a chill that she first felt when she arrived at Buvelle manor the day of her mother's death, and seemed to remain with her up till then.

Even outside the feeling followed her, making her spine shiver – with excitement or foreboding she could not ascertain – as she hosted Lestara's wake and funeral, and even gripping her in the depths of her sleep like a caressing hand running down her neck and back, never allowing her a moment's peace and waking her in cold sweat to waves of hunger and pent-up pressure that screamed for release.

But she could not speak and thus could not beg for that release, and was always left gazing into the black void, deprived of sleep for the rest of the night.

This had gone on for weeks, working on until months where it occurred on a daily basis and left the musician indisposed to receiving any visitors, and most of the household servants wary of crossing her. Many in Demacia, Ionia, and even Noxus assumed this was because she had still been grieving her mother's loss, but Sona understood that they could not have been more wrong.

Yet one night during the more terrible months following the passing of Lestara Buvelle, Sona had slept with more peace than she ever had; still feeling the chill with her yet no longer being tormented with its touches and she woke the following morning feeling more rested than she had since the ordeals began. At that point in time, she had not known what had protected her from the chill's ministrations, but had immediately come to odds with herself when she opened her wardrobe to change.

There, with her numerous shoes, sandals, and slippers, sat the heavily-decorated case of her etwahl.

It was the very same etwahl that had been locked up in the attic the day of her mother's funeral with the only key to the aforementioned room hanging from Sona's neck.

Had it been her close proximity to the etwahl that kept the strange chilling presence at bay?

Even then, how did it leave the attic when it was only she that held the key to it?

The latter of the two questions held no true answer, but did indeed confirm to the musician some of her mother's stories about the etwahl returning to her whenever it was lost or separated from Sona for long periods of time.

The night immediately following, Sona decided to test out her newly-formed theory and climbed up the creaky stairs that lead to the manor's attic, deposited the instrument there, locked the door, and turned in for the night.

And true to her suspicions, she would not find sleep granted to her for the cold caresses returned full force and she was once again left awake, on the verge of peaking and consumed by a wanting for things she did not know.

It was after that night that Sona Buvelle resolved to - despite the bad memories brought about by the sight of the etwahl – keep the instrument inside the wardrobe whenever she turned in for the night and the attic during the rest of the day.

Weeks passed, her outward disposition improving with the longer hours of rest and allowing for visitors to pay her visits; some long-time friends of her adopted mother that had missed the funeral and wished to pass their condolences, and others colleagues from the music industry inquiring about her coming return to work from the hiatus she took to mourn her mother's loss.

The former, she received with grace and thanked with great poise, while the latter, she spoke with cordially and answered with hidden trepidation.

She found it difficult to return to her work knowing that the instrument that she had supposedly been brought to the Ionian orphanage with was capable of taking lives on its own and in ways more gruesome than should be mentioned.

But she also loved her music, and she was left at a quandary as painful as the sight of her mother being ripped apart by notes of music invisible to the naked eye.

The need for music won out, however, and she had finally decided to once again take up the etwahl after nearly half a year on hiatus. She did not immediately return with a concert though, much to the surprise of her many fans, but instead began to practice in isolation within the manor grounds; playing tunes in the garden, the veranda and even the little shade on the rooftop that held a breathtaking view of the Conqueror's Sea.

She had taken to playing her music on the rooftop more frequently than other places over the course of the weeks following, mainly because of the warm air blowing in from the shadow Isles despite the fact that it was winter across the rest of Valoran. If it would help ward off that chill that remained with her even then, it was a welcome change.

The chill's efforts had come to a head weeks after she had finally settled into her routine for the season; it had happened one night when she was playing on the rooftop during the winter solstice – the longest night of the year, and by far the coldest one she had ever experienced in her life – at a little past the twenty-third hour: Sona Buvelle's dainty fingers danced atop the steel strings, plucking and rubbing them to forge a tune that sought to calm the minds of everyone yet desired to bring her peace in particular.

She had felt restless all day, the cold washing over her in waves of dark pleasure such that she found it impossible to settle any affairs and nigh unable to play any music. And once again – in private where no one would ever hear or see her – she bemoaned her inability to find release.

Once again, it stopped just as she was about to crescendo.

The frustration was mounting, clawing at her very core even while she tried to find solace in her music.

In blew another gale from the north-west, this time the expected warm air cold with the same desolate death that has been haunting her for the past half-year. She felt herself react to the feeling as it brushed her collar and lower back, Sona's fingers clenching at the strings as her arced backwards at the sensation with her brows furrowed and her mouth open in a silent scream.

She did not hear the sound of one of the wooden pillars shredding beneath the weight of her music's wrath as she was granted the blessed release that she had been denied the past six months. She savored the feeling and reveled in finally being given it, drowning herself in the high as the wind seemed to swirl around her.

When Sona came down from her high, she found herself looking at the shredded column while she was on her knees, each hand on an opposite side of the instrument with her legs splayed under her and cold sweat breaking out from every part of her body while she shook with helplessness that she had never felt before.

It thrilled her, seeing the destruction she had unknowingly caused, and the odd effect it had on her.

In the days following leading up to the end of the week, she returned to the roof every night to try and replicate the event she had undergone during the solstice.

She succeeded in recreating the destruction of the etwahl, once again laying waste to another column and finally making the kiosk unsafe for use until repaired, but she had failed to experience the crescendo she underwent that night and she went to sleep for the first time in her life, wanting – not for release, but for the blessed sensation that came before it.

The days went by, Sona beginning to regularly practice her newfound power, and eventually turning into weeks when she made her first return concert in Demacia and accepted to perform another concert at a Goodwill event for the League of Legends in Noxus the month following. She had come to a startling realization:

Since the night of the winter solstice, the chill had not come for her in the night's darkest hours even when the etwahl was kept in the attic; in fact, it seemed to have left her completely. Her bed was warm and welcoming during the night, and she no longer felt the invisible, cold hands praising her neck and back.

She found no sleep that night, and instead chose to return to the roof where she continued to hone the etwahl's musical blades until the sun came up the next day and she was too tired to mind being unable to quench her growing hunger.

In the three weeks to come after that night before her journey to Noxus, Sona accepted that she was beginning to forget how it felt; despite her need's continued growth, it was difficult to remember anything based solely on a sensation without a face to recall it with.

The night before the journey, she closed her legs together with one of her arms between them and her other free arm pulling the said legs closed to her chest; then she wept for a reason she could not fathom.

The evening following, she performed at Noxus as she did at every other concert she had done: with a smile on her face and an atmosphere of pleasantry that the audience was carried away on her singing strings.

During her playing of the night's last song – once composed and presented in honor of the late Lestara Buvelle – however, Sona froze as she was about to begin the last eight or nine notes. She shivered as she unknowingly clenched her thighs together as she finally felt her mind recall what her body apparently failed to forget.

The chill she had come to miss was back, reaching into her core and bringing her pent up wanting into chaotic upheaval; her breathing grew labored, her fingers clenched at the etwahl's steel strings as she leaned against the instrument for support, her powers in disarray and shredding the wood of the stage around her while her head swept across the audience in search of the source of the cold touch that she so missed.

There, atop one of the buildings on the outer edge of the clearing where the audience sat, a pair of red eyes outshining even the full moon that floated behind him.

It was _him_. The face and form that haunted her darkest dreams, the face that matched the cold touch and chilling breath.

When all was done that night, she sought him out; her body and instrument hidden beneath a long red cloak that dragged across the grimy stone walkways as she trudged through the night in search of him.

She dared not float as she usually did for fear of being recognized by others.

It was at the alley's end that she found him, surrounded by three corpses of fellows of no consequence, whose bodies had been mutilated with far more brutality then she could ever hope to emulate.

At the center of the three piles of flesh he stood, his tall form shrouded from the light that illuminated the ones at his sides, but with his eyes flashing the same red she saw just hour earlier.

Seeing him, she felt no fear; seeing him she felt to uncertainty or doubt for her safety.

This was he, she knew through the sudden welling up of her desires: her heavy breaths and staggered steps as she drew even closer to he who just stood there and awaited her arrival as she had awaited their reuniting encounter.

When she had joined him in the darkness, Sona placed her hands against his iron chest and rested her head against it, her hood dropping and her blue hair falling down her back; she sighed into him, but still he did not move. She knew though that his eyes were on her, red flashing with the same recognition they did when their eyes met earlier during her concert.

She looked up, her right hand reaching for the etwahl bound to her side and plucking a single string in question at him.

The solitary note sounded flat and seemingly bearing no message, but she knew he understood; he _always_ seemed to understand.

When he spoke, his voice seemed to have the same effect his presence had on her: building her up to near-climax.

"You are to call me 'Murder Emperor.'"

And Sona Buvelle knew then that she was damned.


	2. Death's Duet

**Disclaimer**: I own neither League of Legends nor the Magic: The Gathering references I make with this fic

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><p>Yo;<p>

Okay, so this is the second chapter for this story.

Now, before we continue, there're some things I want to clarify first: One, this – judging by how I have portrayed this chapter – might very well evolve into a darkfic. I feel that this is justified considering the fact that it is difficult to pair characters like Mordekaiser (A man wearing armor that is suspected of being undead, and also seems to take some sadistic satisfaction with taking the souls of his enemies – albeit temporarily in-game) and Sona (a champion that seems to exude this air of goodness, especially with the fact that she is from Demacia – LoL's typical 'good guys.')

Part of this story will be my attempts at diving into Sona's psyche and twisting it in such a way where her joining the League and entering a relationship with Mordekaiser feels more believable, so forgive me if Sona might appear out of character to a certain degree in subjective opinion.

Lastly, this chapter's title and partial inspiration of the title of the last chapter are inspired from the card game 'Magic: The Gathering'

-Specifically, '_**Damnation**_' for chapter one and '_**Death's Duet'**_ in chapter two.

Of course, I would greatly appreciate it if you shared your thoughts after reading. So, R&R plox 8D!

Enjoy your read.

Sincerely,

_**Toph the Trickster / mr_Trickster**_ (Summoner name)

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><p><strong>Sweet Corruption:<strong>

**Death's Duet**

Sona wasn't sure what she should have been feeling as she stared down the countless trembling bodies that lay bloodied at her feet. A part of her tugged her towards guilt, taking the lives of these people rather than allowing them to escape, but another – larger – part of her argued that doing so would have left others victim to the bandits' intentions.

She examined them, taking in the deep slashes strewn across their bodies, several limbs cut cleanly off and one of two holes punctured through their chests.

With the success of he goodwill concert sponsored by the League of Legends, Sona Buvelle and her fellow performers had packed up and departed for their respective homes – mostly Demacia and Ionia – the day after; the mute musician not sharing her encounter with the entity that introduced himself as the Murder Emperor to any of her acquaintances and friends within the troupe, and when queried, simply declared that she felt the need for some fresh air.

No one questioned her presented statement despite the fact that the city-state of Noxus was so full of mist and smoke that the air was hardly fresh.

It had been a surprise that just as they were at the Noxian border that crossed into the League's Institute of War, the six carriages that made up the caravan were surrounded by bandits of unknown origin; she wasn't sure if they had at some point been Noxian or not, or perhaps even made up of mixed nationalities, but she had then known one thing:

The guards provided for them by the League would not be enough to protect everyone in the troupe, and this had left her with one option, one that admittedly excited her a great deal:

She was to join the fray and brandish the darker side of her music that, quite possibly, only the Mordekaiser had witnessed insofar.

Up until that point, she had only ever used her etwahl's destructive abilities on inanimate objects: wooden posts and stone walls of already condemned buildings in the older districts of Demacia and barring the night of Lestara's death, never seen the effects the blades of sound had on another human being.

Sona wondered how she would feel using the ability on living creatures, sending the blades out knowing full well that her targets would most-assuredly die.

Then again, killing them was the point, was it not? For allowing the aforementioned bandits to live would bring about the death of countless more innocents.

Her blades cut clean through her opponents, severing limbs and puncturing holes without losing any apparent efficiency as she went about the morbid work; when they came close, she floated out of reach while her etwahl played a different tune before shifting back to the shifting back to the gruesome chorus of dismemberment.

Her quickness in dispatching the intruders had come to such a point that the guards of the league and the members of the troupe could do nothing more than observe with mixed expression the brutal symphony being preformed before them.

Sona paid them no head however, for something of greater personal interest had caught her eye as she went about her business:

The cold wind, the clouding sky, and the red radiance that she observed shining from her bloodied dress told her instinct of a presence she appreciated.

He was here, and if she could tell anything from the discordant rising and dropping in the temperature around her, he was intrigued with her newest composition.

She cast her gaze to the last three of the bandits, seeing them shake under the imperious gaze that she subjected only a selective few to. They eyed the most recent mortality that lay at Sona's floating feet: a body torn asunder with its arms several feet behind the woman and its legs above its head that was three feet before her. Sona Buvelle then found herself divided with how to deal with these last few men – not too happy at her own questioning of her earlier decision, wondering if there was a point in killing them off now that they had been reduced to so few. Her decision was unfortunately made for her.

They ran.

They ran, and her instinctual response had been to pursue with her music blaring with a fast-paced tune while her fingers moved restlessly over the etwahl strings. Her blood pumped faster, her focus heightened by the adrenaline flowing through her as she lashed one hand at them in aggression.

The screams followed soon afterwards.

Two of the bandits that had been lagging behind cried out when the note resounded, falling to the ground in bloodied heaps of dying flesh while the note spun around them and tore them apart; they're expiring bodies shaking in the throes of death, limbs falling off in wake of the pressure exerted by her music. The third bandit – the last of the band – did not even deign to look back despite the passing of his companions but preferring to wail in what Sona believed was fear as he stumbled onward.

She took a deep breath before continuing the chase, relishing the feel of the cold wind as it brushed her long hair and brought more attention to the slight dampness dripping from the hem of her skirt: blood.

It was in this short interval she heard _him_ speak, his voice carrying through the very air around her: _"Can you feel it, Maven?"_

Sona Buvelle flew onward, the decorative strips of cloth hanging from her dress swinging to and fro as she dodged rocks and other obstacles while slowly entering the ravine ahead where she was certain the last bandit had fled into.

"-_Welling up from deep within you."_

Her hands stilled above the instrument, not a single note resounding as the musician listened to the music of the world around her. She willed the situation to give her the answer she required of it: the direction in which her game had gone.

"_The panic in your heart, the shortness in your breath; that want, that __**need**__ to get to your prize."_

Then she heard it. A pebble falling from one of the lower ridges and bouncing off the larger boulders and crying out in protest as it hit the ground; the bandit had attempted to hide in one of the caves.

"_You are enjoying this. Murder and bloodshed and carnage though it may be._

"_What sick thrill do you derive from this, woman? Mercilessly tearing apart these insects in much the same way you had so unwillingly taken the life of you mother._

"_Was she no better then?"_

This gave her pause, the thought of being responsible for the death of Lestara making her cringe and accidentally breaking her magical connection with the etwahl. It fell to the ground with a clunk, her feet descending to the earth bellow her.

Had it been her? _Had_ she been responsible for the death of her adoptive mother?

She instinctually denied any involvement in the mortality, reasoning that the instrument had acted on its own and murdered her mother in cold blood. But such a thought also deigned to query: was not the etwahl bound to her? Was it not bound to do her bidding even on an unconscious level? Sona recalled the time when she had been plagued by the touches of the emperor while not being granted the salvation of release and the etwahl forced its own return so that its presence could drive the Mordekaiser's ministrations back – even if only to a certain degree.

Could she – a child born from Ionia and raised in Demacia, two nations well-known for being Valoran's best examples of goodness – have subconsciously desired the termination of the person that took her in and raised her?

No! She mentally cried in response to his accusation. Wanting Lestara dead followed no line of logical reasoning. The older woman had always been kind to her, only scolding Sona gently during her younger years and fully supporting the maven's decision to travel the continent for concerts.

The Mordekaiser only laughed at her response, the air growing colder as the sky turned gray above.

"_Bloodlust follows no rhyme or reason, my lady, as you have so nicely-portrayed today; what reason was there in taking the lives those two bandits you killed just now? What reason is there to continue this pursuit of the last one despite his rather apparent harmlessness already?"_

He could have returned to a possible hideout – she thought – they could have had more allies. There would neither be peace for us nor safety for any others that would pass through here in the future!

"_And what of the League then, woman? Is it not their duty to keep the peace of this accursed continent? Is it not their duty to protect the lives of you and your lot?"_

She heard him laugh again and she could almost imagine his glowing scarlet eyes staring down at her in amusement; Sona heard shaking and looked to see the etwahl shudder against the stone and earth, calling for her to take it up.

"_Admit it, Buvelle, admit to me that you enjoy ripping these insects limb from limb, making them barely recognizable to anyone that may have known them in life!_

"_Admit it to me, then enter that cave and dismember that last whelp that is hiding in there. I can sense his soul quaking in fear of your music, and I can promise you that you shall __**relish**__ his passing with satisfaction so rarely known in the nations you were raised in."_

She gave no reply, in neither thought nor silent admittance. Her deed however, Sona believed would suffice. Lifting one hand in a beckoning gesture, her instrument leaping from the ground and coming to its normal position beneath her hands; Admit to wanting her mother dead? Her eyes closed as she carefully analyzed all that she felt today.

Her tongue slid across her lips before her teeth sank into them, a shiver running through her as she recalled.

To the emperor, apparently, what she had barely knew she did was enough of an answer for him:

"_Enter that cave, play your tune and let that man's screams of agony be your song's accompaniment."_

The cave was even colder than the already chilling climate in the ravine, the gray of the sky turning into a purple hue that came from the strange crystals hanging from the sides and the ceiling. Sona's eyes swept across her immediate surroundings, taking note of dark corners and other entrances that may branch out deeper into the cave.

To her left she saw no openings; to her right the wall bore a jagged face and a shelf-like opening where a person could have hid; and before her the cave kept extending, ending with a cluster of crystals nearly twenty feet ahead.

She wanted this; Sona could accept that fact even though she was unwilling to admit to have desired Lestara's life. What she had done today had brought her too much enjoyment, too much guilty a thrill to be denied before one that had known of her doings since she began them for her to say that she deigned not finish what she had started.

A deep breath, and she pressed her fingers against the metal wire that served as the etwahl strings; Sona willed the instrument to hold fast as she placed her weight against the hands, ignoring the pain as the steel broke skin and her blood began to drip on the polished wood below.

Drawing in a gasp, she braced herself for greater sensation before she dragged her hands outwards from their previous place near the middle of the etwahl. The strings were tinted red with her essence.

"_Sing Death's Duet for me while the wailing of today's fallen act as your choir in light of your muteness."_

She closed her eyes, feigning exhaustion from her just-completed self-destructive ordeal and hearing movement coming from the upper parts of the wall to her left.

She called out to the Mordekaiser before she opened her eyes:

_My acceptance of myself, I confirm in blood. I pray that you are to be pleased with this masterpiece I shall play for you._

"_Time to shred, __**my lady**__!"_

Life has always been a dance; it is only fitting that Death sing the tune.


	3. Underworld Dreams

**Disclaimer:** (See previous chapters)

This update was unexpected, but I found myself inspired.

The main reason for the long hiatus on this story was my indecision regarding the direction I wanted to take it. I had two options: One, I could go a sappy dark romance; or two, I could put in some real plot and start spreading the darkness to more than just our dear Sona Buvelle.

I have decided upon the latter option, and so this story is no officially AU – at least to some extent.

**Note:**

All three of the first chapters – and any future ones unless otherwise said so take place during a time prior to Sona's joining of the League of Legends.

Also, the card whose name was used for this chapter's name is _**Underworld Dreams**_

Enjoy your read and don't forget to leave me a comment or two!

Sincerely,

_**Toph the Trickster**_

**Sweet Corruption:**

**Underworld Dreams**

"_In the drowsy, dark cave of the mind, dreams build their nest with fragments dropped from day's caravan."_

~TtT~

On the first night, the very first time the dreams came to her, all she saw was darkness.

There was no form; neither form of self nor form of surrounding for the darkness dominated so much that Sona Buvelle found her ability to see and look around completely useless.

At first, there was silence. And despite the fact that she knew there was nothing to see in the void around her, the woman had persistently tried to see into the black; she had gone as far as attempting to move around with her lack of physical form, not really succeeding at getting anywhere or at least not being able to discern whether she had managed to move or not.

What was she doing in a place such as this? She could not help but ask herself that. This was the very first time she had encountered a dream of this nature, one so unlike her normal fair and those shared to her by her friends and contemporaries. The woman was accustomed to hearing of flights of fancy, ideas given form or ideals and ambitions presented in completion.

She continued her frantic swim through the void in her search of herself; she desired something familiar, something that would remind her of the dreams that she was so accustomed to.

This dream was abstract, unfamiliar ground and therefore, something she rejected on instinct. Her reaction was not a conscious one, not one that she would have done had she taken the time to calm herself and understand her situation better.

That was simply not the case.

It was after she had exhausted energies that she argued to herself she should not posses that she began to hear the words echoing out to her. It was in a language she could not understand despite her exposure to all the languages of Valoran in her travels.

The voice brushed against her, the first thing to give her a sense of physical sensation within the formless void. The ticking of a clock accompanied it when it repeated its words persistently.

It spoke slowly, every word accompanied by a deliberate blast of cold against her unseen entirety, reminding her of the coldness she experienced when in the presence of the emperor, yet at the same time different. For unlike the Mordekaiser, the feelings she experienced from hearing the words were enforced by no emotion; they lacked that distinct domineering nature the emperor exerted over her.

Was this the emperor, then? Absent of his will to have her, yet him all the same?

The invisible clock was ticking again, the constant beat sounding like breaking stone while the voice continued relating its message to her.

The ticking of the clock was growing louder to her, but she couldn't ever be sure because of the absence of her ears; cracking – yes, it had to be cracking she was hearing between ticks of the second hand.

It was the sound of embers cracking on a flame, but one that burned cold as it ripped through her.

The voice ran deeper as it continued its tirade, the woman feeling herself shudder in the void as the chill seeped ever closer to her core.

At this point, Sona became aware of self again, her senses no longer bound to simply feeling abstract impressions on a form that did not exist. Her fists clenched from the cold as she shut her thighs together subconsciously in anticipation of something that would not be there.

She was awake a moment later, her covers rumpled at her waist.

She was panting as she tried to get her bearings: she was in her room in Buvelle manor. Casting a glance around the room, she observed that it was the same in every aspect and no wind was blowing. She could not feel the emperor with her, not even that will of his that kept her sated most nights. No, Sona was alone as alone could be in the security of her room.

Yet why was she so disturbed? She found little sense in being bothered by a dream. Yes, it was not the type of dream that she was accustomed to, but she could not see why that should be distressing her in the manner it was now.

Her breathing slowed, the musician finally calming down from the panic her sudden waking had caused and thereby allowing her to collect herself.

She laid back down on her bed and instinctually felt her back arc upward as it was assaulted by a strange, warm sensation.

Sleeping naked had afforded her different things, one of those things being immediate contact with her sheets majority of the time; warmth was normal.

Her eyes widened though, her lungs drawing air while she fought her instinct and tried to let herself lay flat on the bed.

There.

She felt it; it was not just her back but her legs and arms as well now that she really took the time to consider it. That strange wet and warm feeling that was enveloping her; it was weighing down her comforter, making it heavier with the weight of the liquid in much the same way it was affecting her hair.

It smelled of copper, a delicious scent that she had been coming to recognize on instinct since she began using her etwahl's darker uses nearly a full year ago.

Sona gasped, realizing what was so wrong about the situation and how little sense it made.

Why would that be here? On her bed? Completely drenching her in fact?

Without delay, she reached out and turned the light on her nightstand on.

Promptly, she looked down and found herself in wanting of a voice.

Sona struggled now, slipping on the soggy sheets with her slick hands and legs; her hair stuck to her back, face, and pillow, now a color that she couldn't recognize as her own; her bed – once a pristine collection of white silks that she so adored – had turned sanguine and unrecognizable before her.

Her jaw was locked open, eyes wide and unable to leave the macabre sight.

For she – her linens, hair, and body – were dyed red and smelling of blood.

~TtT~

Luxanna Crownguard was not particularly happy. While it was a given that she rarely ever found herself really happy despite her outwardly bubbly persona, today she was feeling particularly poisonous.

It was one of her few days off – something that came very rarely for those that served in Demacia's oh so prideful military – and today she was called in to see to a favor.

Minister Roberto Zar had unexpectedly called on her earlier this morning, asking that she come over to the library because he needed her help with something. While she had been disinclined to accepting the request, she owed the old man for allowing her free access to the library and an unlimited number of books allowed for borrowing at a time. And there was the fact that Zar's private section in the library was second only to the continental archives of the Institute of War – a place she had yet to gain entry into.

She sighed as she passed through the threshold that lead her into the library's primary hallway, polished stone columns rising up from the marble floor and reaching for the ceiling. The blue banners hung from the pillars flashed the golden emblem of her home city-state. Light filtered in from the colored glass panes that formed the ceiling above her as it cast images of the nation's prided soldiers unto the floor below her while placing what lay behind the columns in the darkness.

For years since she had been forced to join the military, she had turned to the one passion that never left her: her interest in magic. Garen buried himself in his work – though sometimes she was made to wonder if it really was work he was so busy with whenever he went to the Institute of War – and Jarvan was still listed as missing in action the last time she had asked for him.

Her studies were all that was left for her to do whenever she wasn't working. And Zar – when he saw her perusing through the book regarding application of runic magic in the manipulation of light and heat – took note of her bored and more than slightly unsatisfied look before telling her that he had several books regarding magic that she might find a little more interesting and less repetitive than the books that she had access to in the National Library's public section.

That had been two years ago, and Zar had not been a very prominent politician at the time – he still wasn't, actually – so Lux wasn't entirely sure it was wise to follow a person she didn't know into the library's private section.

Ultimately, she had decided that she could bank on her abilities to make herself transparent to get away should he ever decide to attempt anything improper.

The payout of giving her trust that one time had opened to her a treasure trove of new things to read. There were so many books in the man's private section that caught her interest that she was still reading through it now; the collection ranged from history to magic and technology – the latter greatly catching her interest because of its difference from what she was accustomed to.

Most of the books in Zar's collection did not discuss the runic magic that was practiced by majority of the people in Valoran – those that didn't were so few in number that they could usually not be identified. These books spoke of primal magic, power taken from the very land they tread upon and warping them according to one's own needs and desires.

It was difficult for her to comprehend actually, mainly because of the fact that the books she was reading that the scale such magic worked on was so large that no single mage she had ever interacted with in her life – as a teacher of otherwise – could be capable of such feats. It was taking her a long time to go through that part of Zar's collection but she had been grateful for his allowing her to take whatever books she wanted home with her provided she brought them back to him for his inspection once every two weeks.

Lux sighed, this was the first time Zar had ever asked her of anything, really; perhaps it was only fair that she allowed him.

"There you are!" She turned to one of the dark gaps between columns and found herself face to face with Minister Roberto Zar. The pale, old man was dressed in wispy purple robes that seemed to blend with black that surrounded him – a stark paradox to the yellow that Lux chose to wear that day which made her seem a part of the rays of colored light that shone unto the center of the hall. Zar smiled at her and sent the young soldier a shallow bow before saying: "This way, our guest is waiting in my office."

Lux always found it amusing that Zar's office tended to look very Noxian: It was in a perpetual state of darkness, with only a few candles illuminating the most important places of the enclosure such as the desk and bookcases.

It just went to show that sometimes the differences between Demacians and Noxians weren't all that large – not that the Crownguard girl would ever bother sharing these sentiments of hers.

Her eyes immediately locked unto the one object in the room that wasn't there whenever Lux paid the good minister her very rare visits in the office: the red form standing before the bookcase, the candlelight making the cloak's black embroidery appear like shadows in the flame. A delicate hand occasionally reached out to turn the page of the book the stranger had been reading.

Lux knew that the thick carpet in the hallway leading to Zar's office and the carpet inside the room prevented their footfalls from being heard by the stranger. The former female reached out and grasped the minister's shoulder to catch his attention, asking in a whisper:

"Who is she?"

Roberto's impassive expression did not break as he gave her an immediate answer: "You will find out soon enough." Turning away from Crownguard, the minister called out: "Miss, lady Crownguard is here."

The cloaked woman turned, her hand reaching up and bringing her hood down while the other closing the book and setting it aside – forgotten. Piercing amber eyes looked at Lux while the apparently older woman's face remained soft. Red hair was tied into a pair of twin-tails at the nape of her neck and fell over her shoulder to her front.

She looked familiar, but Luxanna couldn't place the woman's identity.

The guest nodded toward them, lacing her fingers together then walking toward the couch that faced the coffee table in the center of the room and sitting down. The woman looked at them expectantly afterwards.

"I hope you were not waiting long, miss?" If Lux was left distracted thinking about how she recognized this woman, Zar remained unaffected by the latter woman's appearance and went on to business.

The guest shook her head but still remained silent, making Lux wonder why the older female had not yet spoken a word.

The guest then turned to Lux – waiting.

Lux sat down on one of the chairs, one between the guest and the minister; seeing this, the red-haired woman waved her one of her hands once, a strange wooden object flying toward them from behind a curtain; its swift movement made it difficult for Lux to identify.

That was, until it landed softly on the guest's lap – at that point, Crownguard wasn't sure whether or not her surprise was shown upon her face.

The wood was polished to a shine, making it look golden in the soft candlelight; Wings were carved on each end of the object, a set of three strings running between the latticework.

It was an instrument, one that had gained considerable fame over all of Valoran over the course of the past few years and there was only one such thing.

The etwahl; of course, only one person on the continent owned such a rare piece:

"Sona Buvelle?" Lux immediately covered her mouth when she realized she had voiced her suspicion out loud.

Sona's amber eyes lit up in amusement as she smiled. Nodding, the musician gestured to the box of sand that decorated the center of Zar's large table; she plucked one of her instrument's strings:

"_It's a pleasure to meet you, Luxanna Crownguard."_

Lux found herself blinking at the writing on the sand, not really expecting the popular musician to use such an unorthodox method of communication. The blonde was aware that Sona was mute, of course, but the former had never expected the older female to use the etwahl in such a manner. Lux wasn't even aware the instrument was capable of such a thing in the first place.

Odd…

Music was played once more, and the blonde was made to look at the sandbox again:

"_I trust minister Zar has informed you of why I have asked for you?"_

When Crownguard looked to the minister, the old man interjected: "No, miss Buvelle, I have not." Sona nodded at this, playing several more notes:

"_Very well,"_ The letters were slashed unto the sand – Lux observed – as though done by some unseen blade. _"You see, miss Crownguard-"_

"Lux, please." It wasn't always easy being expected to perform as well as her brother had within the ranks of the Demacian military, but such had occurred. Everyone had been of the opinion that she, too, would uphold the Crownguard legacy of outstanding service to the city-state. Lux rather not be referred to such outside times when it was necessary because of such.

Nodding, Sona continued: _"Lux, of course._

"_You see, I feel that I am being…" _There was a pause in the playing of music, Sona's hands hesitating above the strings; of course, the writing stopped as well. The musician's expression was unreadable at this point; her eyes cast low in recollection.

When she remembered, the red-haired woman met her amber eyes with Lux's blue: _"Plagued by magics; magics of non-runic nature."_

"May I ask:" Crownguard interrupted, her blonde brows furrowed together. "What makes you believe the magics are non-runic?"

The reply came quick as the sands shifted to the plucks of the string: _"I have found myself greatly exposed to runic magic as the nature of my profession requires me to." _Sona smiled at the younger girl, eyes glinting. _"Certainly, you know how runic magic feels. I personally find it difficult to explain but I trust you understand what I mean, no?"_

Lux nodded: "Like lightning and gravel. Even the elemental magic generated by runes gives a similar aftereffect. Many mages in Valoran can't tell the difference but that's because they are rarely ever exposed to anything else."

"_It is for this reason that I have asked for your counsel." _There was a short pause in the playing as Sona's left hand gestured to the minister. _"Minister Zar had let slip that you had been given access to his private collection within the library; from my many conversations with him at my concerts, he has mentioned that he had information on magic of other disciplines. Though I had originally been intending to do the research within his library myself, he also mentioned something to me that caught my attention:"_

There was another pause; in this, Lux raised her eyes to look at the woman she was having a conversation with. On Sona's countenance, Luxanna saw an expression she had never seen on the former before; with the former's popularity, it was no surprise that many of her concerts were broadcasted to most of the continent through the magical viewing system used by the Institute of War for League matches, and on those performances Buvelle usually wore a cheerful expression, eyes soft and lips pulled upward in a gentle smile.

This time, the amber eyes pierced Lux; cherry-painted lips set in a thin line while the older woman allowed the moment to drag on for a few seconds.

And when she started playing again, the words on the sand were:

"_What is 'Finales Funkeln?'"_

Lux acknowledged that she was surprised upon finding out about the etwahl's ability to write – and if her suspicions were correct, more – but she had not expected the woman to be aware of the spell she had been working on – the only person she had confided such information into had been the minister who had been giving her tips on applying the theory on primal magic that she wanted to use as basis for the spell.

Her eyes widened. She looked to Zar with her mouth open, the obvious betrayal in her blue eyes accused him.

"When lady Buvelle shared her plight with me, I felt obligated to share information that might assist her." He nodded to Sona who reciprocated the gesture. "She has… heard things, things that she believes might originate from the same tongue where your new spell's name has come from, and she is of the belief that you might be able to help her understand."

The music of Buvelle's etwahl prevented Lux from replying to Zar's excuses and the latter female's attention was diverted to observe the changes in the sand:

"_I take full responsibility for whatever wrong minister Zar might have done you in sharing what he knew with me." _When Lux checked Sona's facial expression, it was still set to the serious look the older female had earlier. _"But I felt it necessary to find someone knowledgeable in the language to assist me in understanding some of the words I could remember from my dreams."_

"Dreams?" Crownguard found herself speaking before she knew what she was doing.

Buvelle nodded, the sands shifting to form another message: _"Dreams. For the last several weeks I have been having dreams of strange nature. I hear sounds I have never heard before and see sights I am unfamiliar with. They were never an issue before as I rarely woke in the night finding myself unable to sleep afterwards."_ Still, Sona's expression was impassive. _"Whenever I wake from these dreams, I feel the tingling of magic around me. Make no mistake, it is not the lightning and gravel over my skin that you stated earlier."_ The musician closed her eyes for a short second and took a deep breath before continuing.

"_It was a chill, a chill that at the same time burned me inside and out. On some level I also felt dread for reasons I cannot understand; but at the same time, I felt a power surrounding and embracing me that I could scarcely hold my own powers back."_

Another pause; this one far longer than the ones before it; Luxanna understood that Sona was now giving her time to analyze the information that the latter had presented her with.

It was quite clear at this point that Sona was capable of some degree of magic. The ability to telepathically manipulate objects by means of her etwahl was evidence enough to prove that point. The moment Sona had brought up the topic of non-runic magics – something that most magi on Valoran would frown upon as heresy – Lux had found herself trying to discern the energies surrounding the older female's instrument and how they interacted with the world around it; after all, most sentients could only tell the difference between schools of magic by being exposed to different kinds. It was the main reason why summoners that had worked with the void-born creatures, Malzahar and Kassadin were able to identify the nature of the magic so easily after being exposed to them.

That wasn't what bothered her most though.

Crownguard had a very specific reason why she kept returning to minister Zar's library. Yes, he had books that the national library did not possess. Yes, she found them interesting and informative. But there was something else among the old tomes that kept Lux coming back:

The library contained books that spoke of other magics. They were books that were neither runic nor void-born, they were books that spoke of magics so old and primal that there recorded history held no trace of anyone ever practicing the magic on Valoran soil. It was the exact same magic she was trying to incorporate into some of her light-based spells: _Finales Funkeln_ was a very meager example of the little studies she succeeded in under that school of magic. It surprised Lux greatly that it had merely been a miniscule application of what she had learned and to some extent wondered what would occur should she be able to fully master the spell theory involved.

But Lux's blue eyes stared at the woman in front of her, some part of her that she could not identify following the trail of feelings emanating from Lady Buvelle and noticing something that she had not observed till just then.

Perhaps it had been because it was more subtle than Lux's own application of the spellcraft, or it was because it was focused on something far smaller than a large beam of light that could be seen from across a field of battle.

Sona Buvelle, the very last person Luxanna thought would manifest such magic was practically wrapped in it like a shroud. The feelings of power greater than what Lux herself could comprehend came from the musician in pulses and only now seemed to touch the blonde; it was different from her own spell though, so much more different. For whilst _Finales_ had been wild and unrefined, what she felt from the red-haired woman in front of her was the exact opposite: The magic was calm and streamline, without inconsistency.

Perfect. Lux could think of no other word to sum it up.

"Miss Buvelle," The blonde finally said, blue eyes meeting amber ones. "I will try to be as honest with you as I can." Lux paused, taking a deep breath as Sona had earlier before continuing: "I am unsure whether the spellcraft that you are experiencing in your dreams is of the same school as what I am studying now. But if the magic that I can sense from you is any indication, I can say that there is a very great similarity between the magics and that I wish to help you understand what your experiencing as much as I want to study it for my own benefit."

Luxanna leaned forward and leaned against her elbows while lacing her fingers together before saying: "It would be an honor to work with you."

For a very, very short moment, amber eyes glinted with something dark. Lux wasn't sure if she had imagined it, but delicate hands were moving quickly over steel strings as the sand was moved about in its container.

"_I am thankful for your cooperation, Luxanna Crownguard."_ White teeth shined with a smile. Lux found herself feeling uneasy. _"I certainly hope that our work together would benefit the both of us greatly."_ And then Sona Buvelle – the single most popular musician in all of Valoran to date – stood up and floated away. Her hood pulled up and her etwahl hidden beneath her cloak. From where Lux sat in Zar's office, the older woman looked like a crimson ghost fading into the shadows

There was definitely something strange about this woman. That much was clear to Lux, and she was going to find out what.


End file.
